


500 Words: 113 Desuetude

by flashofthefuse



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 06:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6599818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/pseuds/flashofthefuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I decided to try my hand at the 500 words challenge. Thanks Fire_Sign for the list!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



> This was going to be short - just the one chapter about Jack, but I ended up writing a second, using the same word with Phryne. I hope you recognize the scene.
> 
> My next challenge will be trying to limit my word count!

**des·ue·tude**

_ˈdeswəˌt(y)o͞od/_

_nounformal_

_noun: desuetude_  
_a state of being no longer used or practiced_

 

> _“The docks fell into desuetude.”_

 

 

Jack glanced at the clock for the thousandth time that day. It was close enough to the end of his shift, and he wasn’t getting anything done anyway. He grabbed the duffel from under his desk and lifted the garment bag from the hook on the back of the door.

He spent nearly an hour in the gym with the weights and the body bag, working off an overabundance of nervous energy, then hit the showers.

He carefully cleansed every inch of his body, telling himself he was being ridiculous, and that she’d be seeing no more of him than she generally did, but, there was no harm in being prepared.

To say it had been a long time for him was an understatement but despite having fallen into desuetude he wasn’t overly concerned. She’d seemed to enjoy it when he kissed her, so he thought he was still proficient in at least that one area, and he felt confident his hands would remember what to do. He didn’t have extensive experience, and he knew all women were different, but there were some fairly universal things that he could lead with and after that—well, he was a quick study.

Everything seemed in working order, but solo flights with the equipment were no guarantee of a successful performance _à deux_. He just hoped, should the opportunity arise, that he wouldn’t be overly eager. A malfunction would prove mortifying.

He turned the tap to cold. He was getting ahead of himself. It was just dinner. He didn’t want to go into this with any presumptions. Besides, this line of thinking was anxiety inducing, among other things.

Shutting off the water, he wrapped a towel around his waist. He checked his likeness in the fogged up mirror above the sink. Using his hand to wipe away the condensation, he watched as his face come into focus, studying the image critically, and wondering what it was she saw when she looked at it. Did his eyes convey to her the way she made him feel?

He ran a hand along his cheek and jaw. He’d shaved this morning, but once more couldn’t hurt.

Clean shaven, his hair slicked back with a dollop of pomade, and his body cooled down enough to dress, Jack headed for the lockers.

Jack was mindful of his sartorial style, and though he didn’t spend more than he could afford, he did believe in paying for quality. Quality materials and good tailoring had never let him down.

 

> _“But not expressed in fancy — rich, not gaudy,_  
>  _For the apparel oft proclaims the man,”_

He’d heard that taken to mean that ‘clothing made the man.’ He disagreed. Shakespeare had said ‘proclaims’ not ‘creates’. One could tell a great deal about a man from the way he dressed, and Jack felt that a man’s outward appearance should be a truthful introduction of himself. He was a cautious, serious man. His manner of dress conveyed that.

He unzipped the garment bag to reveal the suit he saved for important occasions. It was tailored impeccably to fit him. He wore it only when he had meetings with the upper brass, or if he was working a case that required him to move in higher society.

At the time of its purchase his divorce proceedings were underway, and he’d been walking around feeling like one raw, open wound. He’d been preparing himself to do something he never thought he would do in a court of law. Lie. He decided that if his words could not reflect the man he was, at least his appearance would.

The suit had cost a small fortune, but the confidence he felt when he donned it made it worth every penny. That he’d chosen to wear it tonight told him he had well and truly left the past behind. Now, there was just one last detail to attend to before he went to her.

Jack was aware that there were many who thought him a solemn and dour man. Phryne saw more. She saw his lighthearted and playful side, and had a way of drawing it from him in the most unlikely of circumstances. He’d thought of her instantly when he saw it in the shop, and he did again now as he removed the long, thin box from his desk drawer.

The colors and pattern were bolder and brighter than his usual fare. He thought she’d like it. To him it said _‘Phryne’_ and his heart skipped a beat as he took it from the box, the cool, smooth silk slipping through his hands. He lifted his collar and wrapped it around his neck, tying by rote memory the half-windsor knot he favored for its casual elegance. He went to his door to check his work in the reflection, his jaw clenching as he stilled himself.

He was as ready as he’d ever be.

“Inspector,” the desk sergeant called to him. “You have a call, sir. A Miss Fisher. Should I put it though?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Shakespeare quote is from Hamlet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phyne's side.

Phryne set the fascinator atop her head, watching the light bouncing off the gleaming feathers, reflecting varying shades of deep green, inky sapphire, and ebony.

It occurred to her that she’d spent far more time preparing for this evening than any night in recent memory. The day at the spa being plucked and plumped, waxed and polished had been rejuvenating. It was something she did on a fairly regular basis. It hadn’t been solely about tonight. But she was glad she’d gone today. She was pleased with the way her alabaster skin glowed in marvelous contrast against the midnight blue of her dress.

The dress was magnificent. Atop the lovely form-fitting silk gown was a sheer black, heavily beaded, lace overlay that draped fabulously along her curves, and swayed when she walked. The gown was sleeveless, displaying her shapely arms. A swath of beaded fabric draped from her shoulder and was attached at her wrist by a fragile strand of silk. When she moved her arms, it fluttered gracefully.

With all the exquisite beading and sequins, the weight of the dress was substantial, and the sound it made when she moved enchanting. It was the sound of leaves whispering in a breeze, or a soft rain falling on a tin roof. She imagined it slipping smoothly from her body, making a satisfying thump as it hit the floor.

But she was getting ahead of herself. It was just dinner. She frowned at her reflection in the mirror.

Was she overdoing things a little? It had been so long since she’d attempted this. She was quite out of practice. The last time she’d come close would have to be Vic. Before the war. But even that hadn’t been like this. They’d been young. They’d liked each other’s company, and had spent time together. At first among other friends, and later, on their own, but it hadn’t been a courtship. Not in any strict sense of the word.

Then the war came and, if she ever had, she’d long since ceased holding on to romantic notions of love and lasting attachment. Or, at least she thought she had. Yet, Jack was courting her. He’d made that fairly clear. And instead of repelling her, the thought made her giddy, and more than a little nervous.

Jack was not like the other men. The attraction between them was there, beyond doubt, and she was looking forward to acting on it at long last, but it couldn’t be rushed. This wasn’t a dalliance, or an exploration of a spark that flared briefly between two people. This was something more.

She fought against the desperate fluttering of her heart. It beat in her chest with a force that threatened demolition of her carefully constructed cage. She wasn’t sure if it was anticipation or panic.

If she’d ever had the skills to do this, they’d long since deteriorated from years of disuse and neglect. But, Phryne was never one to shrink from a challenge. She stood tall, and looked at herself appraisingly in the mirror.

Maybe the dress was too much, but she didn’t care. She was irrationally excited about the evening. She felt beautiful and confident and she couldn’t wait to see the look in his eyes when she opened the door to him. She swiped on her signature red lipstick, blotting with a tissue before setting it with a smooth smack of her lips, and headed downstairs to check on the arrangements.

Bert and Cec had collected Dot and taken her off to the magic show. Phryne loved magic, even though she usually saw through the tricks. Perhaps she and Jack could see the show another night, if things went well this evening.

Mr. Butler had been efficient as always. The house was filled with savory aromas, the table was set, and new elegant white tapers sat in the silver candelabras. Everything appeared to be in order.

She remembered a night not too long ago, when he’d come for dinner and the table had been accidentally set for another. She’d sensed Jack’s discomfort and had extinguished the candles and turned up the lights. What had been a mistake seemed now to have been prescient. She’d always thought Mr. Butler was slightly clairvoyant.

Jack would be here soon. She decided to light the candles now so they wouldn’t look too pristine, and so that she could dim the lights before his arrival. Jack would look fantastic in candlelight, the angles of his face thrown into sharp relief, his beautiful eyes sparkling. She knew it wouldn’t do her a disservice either.

The room glowed in the candlelight, soft music played, and she was hovering near the foyer when the bell sounded. Any thoughts of attempting coy subtlety flew from her head. She pulled the door open eagerly.

* * *

 Seething with anger and disappointment, she settled her unwelcome guest in the parlor and went to make a call, postponing her plans.


End file.
